


We'll Meet Again...

by josephina_x



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Gen, Post-Series, Post-Weirdmageddon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 04:03:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12573296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josephina_x/pseuds/josephina_x
Summary: Stanford died two years before him.





	We'll Meet Again...

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hello Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11710557) by [TransformersG1fan271](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransformersG1fan271/pseuds/TransformersG1fan271). 



> Fic: We’ll Meet Again...  
> Fandom: Gravity Falls  
> Pairing: n/a  
> Rating: G  
> Spoilers: through the end of the series  
> Characters: Stanley "Stanford" Pines, Other(s)  
> Summary: Stanford died two years before him.  
> Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit.  
> AN: ...And yet, here I go on, continuing to try and write Gravity Falls things.
> 
> AN2: I got tackled by a bunny for this after reading [TransformersG1fan271’s “Hello Again”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11710557). (...okay, well, not _tackled_ so much as the bunny popped up immediately and then burrowed itself into my brain until I sat down and wrote this.) So, yeah. Oops?
> 
> If you want your brain to go ‘erk!’, [ read _that_ one FIRST.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11710557) G’wan off with you, I’ll wait. ;)

Stanley was ready to go. He was tired. Ford had died of a heart attack two years before. Despite Stanley having aged less-gracefully than his twin over the intervening 30 years when they’d been separated entire dimensions away from each other, it had almost seemed that defeating Bill had started a clock for Stanford that had otherwise been running more slowly through stubborn determination and grit, if not sheer spite. And while Stanley himself was too cussed contrary to just give up the ghost to old age without a fight -- not while the kids were still alive -- he did miss his brother fiercely.

So finding himself finally and completely worn out, in a hospital bed, with his family surrounding him was almost like a relief. He held Dipper’s hand on his left, Mabel’s hand on his right, and tried to leave them with a smile -- he knew they’d be alright without him, and he didn’t want them sad to see him go.

He let his eyes fall closed, let out a long slow breath, and…

…

...when he opened them again, he realized he was floating. Or maybe he realized he was floating first -- he wasn’t really too sure about it later.

What he did notice _next_ was that there was a white expanse around him, nothing hurt anymore, and the Shack was sitting there below him. So, he was finally dead. Obviously.

...Well, it was about time.

Stanley slowly floated down, though, checking things out, curious at this turn of events. He hadn’t really been sure about an afterlife -- never really thought about it much before, as much as Ford had theorized about things from time to time -- but if it wasn’t fire and brimstone for him, then hey, he was all for it! It was a bit of an odd choice, though, for a waystation. His brother had always said that he'd wait for him there at the beginning of it if there _was_ something there. So in waking up in a place where he _could_ wake up, he’d half expected to see the boat, and a wide open sea. That his brother had chosen the _Shack_ to greet him in seemed…

Stanley barked out a startled laugh as he realized that he wasn’t an ancient and decrepit old man anymore. As he floated lower, he’d shivered and was 57-something again -- he recognized those knees and that _particular_ fez on top of his head -- shivered again and he was 27 and going no place -- he recognized the mullet and the lack of an ache in his right shoulder.

The corners of Stanley’s mouth turned up in a smile as he came down to land on the front porch, because he could smell the coffee from there through the cracks. But when he opened the door and stepped inside to see the living room of the Shack, he saw it _as it had been_.

Stan blinked for a moment, staring at the old recliner, the old TV, the dinosaur skull head, before shaking his own head. It hadn’t looked that way in years -- not since Soos and Melody had moved in to take over the running of the Mystery Shack for him.

Stanley frowned skeptically with no small amusement. “Tryin’ to make a point, Sixer?” he grumbled under his breath good-naturedly. He wasn’t sure what that point was, though -- the timelines just didn’t match up. He was pretty sure Ford would explain, though. These days--

...well, after Weirdmagedon and up until about two years ago, anyway…

\--Ford had always, always, _always_ taken the time to explain things to Stanley, after the memory loss. ...Even if Stan still didn’t understand whatever-it-was afterwards, heh. But that was okay. Stan had never really minded the poindexter babble, even as a teen; Ford had only ever really done that when he was excited about something, and happy. And that had always made Stan happy; he could listen to that all day, even if he teased Ford about it later.

Brother’s prerogative. And, speaking of brothers...

Stan let out a sigh as he looked sideways and caught sight of Ford in the kitchen, sitting at the table reading a newspaper, the old coffeemaker brewing away behind him. Stan started to walk over, but slowed as he realized that Ford wasn’t standing up to greet him; he turned a page instead. A feeling of slight unease crept over him as his brother didn’t even seem to acknowledge his presence. And then he heard...

“What took you so long, _**STANLEY?**_ ”

Stan stopped walking towards him. He just froze in place.

His brother put the paper down, his eyes shining.

...Only it wasn’t his brother.

His eyes were shining _yellow_.

And there was a knowing gleam in them.

The being that _wasn’t_ his brother locked eyes with Stan and, with a growing grin that looked practically unhinged, he raised a hand and snapped his fingers.

And the door slammed shut.

**Author's Note:**

> AN3: ...Oh, _I’m_ sorry -- did I do a thing? *innocent look*
> 
> *EVIL GRIN*
> 
> Ah ha ha. Ah-ha-ha! _**AH-HAHAHAHAHAHA!**_
> 
> :)


End file.
